


But At Last Came A Knock

by Enochianess



Series: Dirtiest white boy in America [5]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Brother-Sister Relationships, Brothers, But At Last Came A Knock, Canon Related, Canon Rewrite, Canon-Typical Violence, Comforting Mickey, Dysfunctional Family, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode Related, Explicit Sexual Content, Gun Violence, Hurt Mickey Milkovich, Jealous Mickey Milkovich, M/M, Major Character Injury, POV Mickey Milkovich, Protective Mickey Milkovich, Season/Series 01, Semi-Public Sex, Shooting, Smut, The language in this is fucking horrendous, Workplace Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-16
Updated: 2015-07-16
Packaged: 2018-04-09 15:36:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4354547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enochianess/pseuds/Enochianess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Season 1 Episode 9 - Mickey focused</p><p>Mickey pauses, feeling torn. Him and the redhead had been going at this thing for a couple of weeks now, and, somehow, they'd fallen under some definition of friendship. They had an understanding. Ian needed a fuck - Mickey was there. Mickey needed something to take away the sting of all the shit going on at home - Ian was there. It was the most stable thing Mickey thought he'd ever had in his life.</p><p>So, unable to refuse, Mickey said, "I'll meet you there in twenty."</p>
            </blockquote>





	But At Last Came A Knock

**Author's Note:**

> I can't get enough of Mickey Milkovich and I don't think his side of the story was explored enough on the show, so I'm writing his story canonically episode by episode and adding and expanding upon the scenes as I see fit (And yes, this does include smut, because their kiss and sex scenes were virtually nonexistent). All the works will be named after the episodes in the show.
> 
> I'd really appreciate your feedback on this because I want to make sure I'm writing Mickey as accurately as possible. If this is going to be as good as I want it to be, I need to quite literally become him for a couple hours a day.
> 
> *Gives you the bird because we're in the shameless fandom and this is the best way of expressing my affection and love for you all*

It was a shit-fuck of a day.

Jamie had killed someone. His dad was on the war path. Iggy was as high as a fucking kite, eating everything out the fridge and singing the fucking Lion King. And Mickey, he was having to work out how to keep Jamie from the can and how to get the fucking money the stiff still owed them for that last batch of Coke. It was always the fucking same. 

"We'll dump him in the river." He mutters, pacing in front of the couch. 

He makes an effort to not look at Jamie, sat on the couch, sipping on a cold beer. He thinks he might kill him if he does.

"Should probably cut his hands off too." He sighs, chewing on his lip and rubbing at his temples. "You can fucking do that."

"Awww- no, Mickey. I hate that shit. Makes my stomach go all funny." Jamie moans. "Can't you do it?"

Mickey turns on him so quickly his head spins. "Do you wanna go back inside? For murder?" He snaps, his hands twitching with the urge to just throttle his idiot of a brother. "Cause, I'm tellin' y' man, that'll make your trips to juvie seem like a fucking joyride."

Jamie screwed his face up. "Fuckin' shit. I ain't mean to do it, Mick."

"I know." Mickey said, his voice quieter now. He grabs the packet of cigarettes from the table, placing one between his lips and passing another to Jamie. He lights them both quickly. "But y' did, and now you gotta clean up."

"Shucks."

"Hey, man. Try askin' Tony. He chucked old man Rogers in the Bubbly Creek a couple months back."

_Bang! Bang! Bang!_

Mickey can't help but jump at the sudden loud, persistent thumping at the front door. He storms over, ready to really give it in to whoever is making such a fucking racket when his head's already hurtin' like a bitch, but all his anger fades as soon as he catches glimpse of the familiar red floppy hair. The kid looks a nervous wreck.

"What the fuck?" Mickey mumbles, his voice coming out the side of his mouth because of the cigarette held between his lips. He tries to keep his face blank, even a little pissed off, because there was no way in hell he was gonna let Gallagher know how he was getting under his skin.

"I need to see you." Ian gasps, his breath coming short and quick, his eyes fucking pleading with him.

"Not a good time." Mickey replies. And really, Gallagher couldn't have picked a fucking worse time. It was downright stupid to just turn up like that, especially with Terry around.

"Who keeps hanging their fucking laundry on my pull-up bar?!" Terry suddenly yells from inside the house, as if Mickey needs a reminder of how majorly he's fucking up.

Mickey needs to hit something. That's what he needs.

Ian glances around him, eyes frantic and desperate. "I-I-I don't know where else to go."

Mickey softens. He can't fucking help it. Gallagher is always making him fucking soft nowadays. He shifts from foot to foot, scratches at his chin, unsure of what to do. His dad would be pissed if he hit tail and ran, but Ian looked fucking heart-broken. And besides, he needed a break from all the shit he was dealing with. He needed some release.

"I thought you were working today." He says gently.

"Uh- Linda's gonna have my ass." Ian murmurs, rocking a little in place, head hanging down.

Mickey watches him carefully, his chest tightening.

"I'm supposed to be there now."

Mickey pauses, feeling torn. Him and the redhead had been going at this thing for a couple of weeks now, and, somehow, they'd fallen under some definition of friendship. They had an understanding. Ian needed a fuck - Mickey was there. Mickey needed something to take away the sting of all the shit going on at home - Ian was there. It was the most stable thing Mickey thought he'd ever had in his life.

So, unable to refuse, Mickey said, "I'll meet you there in twenty." 

 

Ian is before him the minute he walks into the Kash 'n Grab. The redhead holds onto him by his sweater-front while he locks the door, as if he's afraid Mickey's going to leave him. And really, that shouldn't make Mickey as happy as it does.

"Back room." Ian says, releasing him and walking quickly into the back, glancing to make sure Mickey's following. 

Ian stands beside the metal shelves, wringing his hands together, staring nervously at Mickey. It's unnerving. Usually Gallagher is all wide, impish grins, and grabbing, frantic touches. Mickey hates this new, anxious, insecure Ian. He would never admit it, but he liked the way the redhead manhandled him, pushed him around, as if he was one hundred percent certain Mickey would never even think about hurting him. He was the only person that treated him that way. No one ever pushed him. No one had ever cared enough to try.

Mickey steps towards him, biting down on the inside of his cheek. He tugs at the hem of Ian's shirt, his eyes staying downcast as he pulls it up and over his head. He feels Ian's hands moving to do the same, his thumbs hooking beneath his layers to rub lightly at the hot skin he found there, but Mickey shook his head, his hands wrapping around Ian's wrists.

"Mick, I-" Ian attempts to say.

"Just shut up, alright?" Mickey whispers, turning towards the shelving unit and pulling his pants and boxers down. "Put that cock to work."

He hears Ian undo his belt, pull the rest of his clothing down. The hairs on the back of his neck prickle in anticipation. Somehow, today felt different. It felt like more than a fuck, more than want. Today, it felt like  _need._

"Mick," Ian sighs, pressing himself against Mickey's back and nuzzling into his neck.

Mickey's breath hitched. This wasn't what they did. This wasn't supposed to happen. Mickey shouldn't be  _allowing_ it to happen. But, well.

Ian taps at the vertebrae between his shoulder blades and Mickey bends over, knowing exactly what was expected of him. Ian runs his fingertips down the length of his back, between his cheeks, until he could trace over his hole. 

"You opened yourself up for me?" Ian asks, his voice a little strangled.

"Mmhmm," Mickey hums, his hands grasping the metal shelf when Ian pushes two fingers up inside him.

"Do you need-" He begins, his voice breaking off when Mickey thrusted his hips back. "Yeah, okay, okay. Give me a minute."

"Forget the fucking condom and get on me already." Mickey snaps, wincing when Gallagher retracts his fingers.

"You sure? It can be kinda messy." Ian replies, slicking himself up despite his words.

"Everything about this is fucking messy anyway." He says, because, well, it's true.

Ian grabs hold of Mickey's shoulder with one hand, holding him firm as he guided himself inside Mickey with the other. Mickey can't help the whine that falls from his lips at the feeling of being stretched, of his body swallowing up every inch of Ian's cock. 

"Okay?" Ian rasps.

"Fucking fine." Mickey mumbles, his eyes squeezed shut. "Just- none of that slow shit."

Ian's hands move to his hips, fingers gripping him like a vice, and he pulls out of Mickey slowly, as if to spite him, until just the tip is left inside. Mickey feels ready to jump out of his skin and he's about to give Ian a mouthful when the redhead suddenly slams back in. His mouth falls open, a cry falling from his lips at the unexpected movement, and his eyebrows furrow. Ian pounds into him again, and again, and again, seeming to get more desperate with every snap of his hips.

"Don't stop." Mickey moans.

They're grunting and groaning at every thrust, Ian hitting Mickey's prostate on every other one like clockwork, and Mickey is sure it's never felt like this before. He doesn't remember feeling like the fucking world was tilting on its axis before, like if he didn't have Ian inside him he might actually die.

" _Fuck,"_ Ian mutters, his hand suddenly wrapping around Mickey's.

Mickey can't fucking breathe. He can't think. It's like the whole world now consisted solely of Ian's dick pounding into him. He doesn't think he's going to be able to last much longer, his thighs already beginning to shake. Ian's thrusts were beginning to lose their rhythm, his pants falling closer and closer together in Mickey's ear, so Mickey knew he had to be close too.

And then, inconceivably, Ian stops and pulls back. 

Mickey turns his head, feeling as if he might actually cry if Ian doesn't finish him off. But, the moment he spots Kash standing in the doorway, it's like a bucket of ice cold water has been poured over his head.

"What the fuck?!" He exclaims, his heart pounding from panic as well as exertion now.

He yanks his jeans up and runs, not even thinking twice. He pushes Kash in the chest as he passes him, runs straight for the door, and fumbles in his haste until he manages to unlock to fucking door and get the hell out of dodge.

_Fucking fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck._

 

Kash is restocking avocados when Mickey waltzes back into the convenience store later that evening. 

"Fucking right you keep your mouth shut." He mutters, the threat clear in his voice. He grabs a Snickers bar from the till point, just to establish where they really stand in this. Mickey is in charge. Kash is still walking and talking because Mickey has given him the privilege, because he's been _merciful_.  "You better keep it shut. You hear me?"

Kash walks round him and stands behind the counter, his face blank.

"Put the candy back, Mickey." He says, his voice flat, but not defeated or shaky like Mickey was expecting.

 _Like fucking hell._ Mickey bites into the chocolate.

"Mm. That's sweet. I like 'em sweet." He murmurs, as Kash turns his back on him. "But then, uh... so do you, huh?" 

Mickey laughs, thinking he's real fucking clever. If Kash wants to drag him into this shit, expose him or whatever, then Mickey'll drag his ass into it too. Ian had told him all about what the two of them got up to when Linda wasn't around. It made him fucking sick. Ian was a fucking kid. To be honest, Mickey was surprised he hadn't already beaten the shit out of the prick. He fucking well should have done. But, he knew Ian wouldn't like it, and for whatever reason, that actually meant something to him nowadays. Still, towel-head was a creep, and Mickey was pretty certain Kash would want his secret kept quiet just as much as Mickey did.

"Put it back. Now."

Mickey grins at Kash's words, not buying towel-head's shit for a second. So, understandably, he's quite surprised when the fucker actually fires, the sound of glass smashing behind him reaching his ears. Mickey throws his hands up, turning round to look at the store owner, suddenly realising he may have made a mistake turning up unarmed. 

"Fuck!" He stammers.

The trigger is pulled again almost immediately, this time only a few inches to the left of where Mickey's stood. He ducks, the sound ringing in his ears, the Pop Chips exploding beside him.

"Kash, what are you doing?" He hears Gallagher say faintly, what sounded almost miles away.

"It's a fucking Snickers bar!" He yells, disbelief painted across his face.

The gun fires a third time, and this time, Mickey goes down. The bullet lodges in his right thigh and he falls backwards onto the floor with the force of it.

"Fuck!" He pants, grasping his leg.

It hurt like a fucking motherfucker. 

"Holy shit!" Ian shouts.

"Jesus Chr-!" He exclaims, his hands pressing down over the gushing wound. He couldn't fucking believe this was happening.

"You okay?" Ian asks, falling on his knees beside him and looking down at his leg.

"Fuck!" It's about the only word Mickey can remember from his vocabulary.  _Fuck it hurt._

Gallagher leans over him, his hand cradling one side of his head, his thumb brushing against his temple. Mickey would have yelled at him for it, but with the way his leg was on fucking fire, he really couldn't give two shits.

"Hey, hey, listen to me." Ian says, his voice quick with panic.

"You fuckin' suck!" Mickey says, twisting his body slightly to see past Gallagher, his breath shallow. He wished he could get up so he could fucking kill the child-fucking shithead. 

Kash, wisely, remained silent.

 

"What is it with you Milkoviches, huh?" Tony said, his head shaking.

Mickey glowered at him. He was being lifted into a fucking ambulance, handcuffed to the damn stretcher. "I'm the one who got fuckin' shot!"

"You were trespassing on his property, Mickey. If you get shot by a store manager when you're stealing candy bars, who do you think the judge is gonna favour?" Tony replied.

"Gonna fuckin' kill him." Mickey grumbled.

Fucking juvie.

_Again._

Typical. 

**Author's Note:**

> Obviously I do not take credit for the dialogue from the show; I have simply used it to aid my own story and exploration of Mickey.  
> The credit for those parts goes deservedly to the writers.
> 
> Feel free to contact me: http://enochianess.tumblr.com


End file.
